Nothing is Lost If Found In Time
by happy.phantom2
Summary: Post 5x13 Published also on archive of our own
1. Chapter 1

When the Marshals called and told that Neal's anklet had been cut, Peter Burke was furious. He did understand the kid, but felt disappointed anyway. He didn't even consider other options – Neal had run because he hadn't gotten what he had wanted – that was the best explanation he could come up with. Peter wasn't surprised. Of course, he would love to prove himself wrong but there hadn't been any leads or suggestions of something different. No ransom demands, no gossip on the street, no postcard from Neal (yes, he took this into consideration as well). Mozzie was incommunicado. Traffic cameras and CCTV didn't pick up anything interesting. So everyone – including Peter (or maybe – everyone led by Peter) – assumed that Neal was drinking fancy coffee and flirting with hot chicks in bikinis (or without them) somewhere in the world where US jurisdiction (and extradition law) didn't count…with Mozzie by his side and support from some illegally acquired money. Neal was put on the wanted list as a felon who broke his parole.

Peter went to DC in late June – two weeks after Neal's disappearance (he had had to postpone his transfer due to – damn Neal! – the fact that his CI had vanished and the agent was obliged to tie up some loose ends). Peter then spent the two worst months of his career. No, weather or politicians didn't bother him that much. First, he hated the desk job. Second, he hated telling people about his cooperation (partnership? friendship?) with Neal. Third, he hated even more explaining to people how to handle a CI and how his CI could have run away. So when Hughes' health suddenly deteriorated, Peter decided to come back to NY. He almost kissed his old desk. El decided to stay – but she was looking for some kind of a job opening in NY.

Reese Hughes - his boss and friend died suddenly in late August and Peter got busy with new tasks (and duties). He didn't have time to think of Neal well, he assumed that Neal was happy somewhere outside of NY (and of the country for that matter). _Good for you, Neal_– he thought often.

The first clue that Peter was wrong came (or more accurately ran) in in late September when Mozzie entered the FBI building in the fact that Mozzie was in obvious distress wasn't so surprising – it seemed his normal fact that Mozzie entered the FBI building was far more surprising – he usually stayed far away from everything that had something to do with law enforcement (including offices and officers as well).

The little man found Peter and read him the riot act.

"Suit, Neal's missing and I don't see any evidence of a search! I have been out of the country on business and when I came back I find out that Neal is gone!"

"Mozzie, we assumed that the two of you ran away after Neal's sentence hadn't been commuted. And there weren't any other leads!"

"Suit, I'm here! He wouldn't go without me! Neal is out there somewhere! What if he's in trouble?!"

Peter didn't have an answer for this. He was afraid that Neal might not only be in trouble, but might not belong anymore among the living. He didn't think that Neal had decided – all of the sudden – to leave his best buddy behind. Peter realized, belatedly, that Neal had some enemies – a lot of them, in fact – and he made more working for the FBI. So the agent decided to look into the case once more – but – as back in June – nothing could be found. Peter was frustrated – he knew that after so many months, his chances of finding Neal were minimal. He bashed himself but it didn't bring him an inch closer to finding Neal.

The second clue that Neal might indeed be somewhere in NY came just after Halloween. Jones' buddy from the harbor called asking for help. They were preparing some cargo for shipping to Europe but the crane must have malfunctioned and one of the containers was dropped. They decided to check all the containers for damage but to keep it quiet as well – the crane's operator at the time of the accident was an illegal immigrant. One of the neighboring containers was damaged enough to see the contents. But when they looked inside there were some paintings instead of the lumber that was supposed to be there. So Peter and Jones went to inspect the discovery, off-the-books.

Inside the container they found a lot of different paintings but they seemed to be linked somehow.

"It's like a collection?" Peter asked.

"No idea." Jones took photographs and sent it to Diana. They decided to start legal work for the warrant to plant GPS trackers on each of the paintings. Peter had a feeling that it had to be linked to Neal – the paintings were beautiful, flawless. They soon found out that they must have been forgeries as well – the paintings made up the panels of the famous Ghent Altarpiece. The originals had been in the process being restored in the Museum of Fine Arts in Ghent since 2012 –panel by panel.

"You think that Neal did it, don't you?" Jones asked.

"Yes. The only thing I don't know is whether it was done voluntarily and he got the paycheck of a lifetime, or under duress. I don't want to keep the container in NY. Let's get in touch with Interpol and prepare a joint operation. The ship leaves in two days so we still have some time. And the destination is Antwerp. We have plenty of time to crack this case and catch these guys."

"Boss, if Caffrey is among them…"

"He will get what he deserves."

"What if he isn't?"

Peter didn't want to think about this possibility. Of course, he didn't want to put his CI back in prison, but he didn't like the alternative either. The job seemed to be done – it meant that Neal wasn't needed anymore. Peter didn't want to think about this. He just hoped that the thugs had some other forgeries in mind as well. Truth be told – he didn't believe that Caffrey had done it voluntarily – that he had joined some kind of a gang to perform the forgery of his life. And left Mozzie outside this madness…

Within a day an expert from Belgium flew in and confirmed that the paintings were forgeries.

"Sir, someone must have kept up with the changes during the renovation. The restoration of the Ghent Altarpiece was started in 2012, and it's exactly as it looks now," she told Peter.

"The artists who did the job are very skilled – it's almost impossible to tell that it's a forgery."

"Artists? You think that they're more than one?"

"Yes. We would have to do some more tests to confirm it but my guess would be that there were two of them. The majority of the work is done by one person – but some panels must have been painted a bit earlier. The second painter is more talented – that's why – probably he or she was chosen to paint the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb. But you have to know what to look for. Sir, I've studied this painting for over 25 years now. It's so good that my less experienced colleagues wouldn't be able to recognize that it's a forgery. And once the restoration process is complete, it probably wouldn't be looked at closely enough to detect that it's a forgery for many years".

"So this is a perfect time for a theft?"

"Yes – we have to transport the panels, put them back in the cathedral when we are done. And soon they will be moved once again – all of them to the Museum, put on display – there will be a huge ceremony including the Royal Family, and then – moved back to the cathedral." Peter nodded.

"How long it would take to paint such a masterpiece?"

"My guess – a couple of years."

"Is it doable in 4-5 months?"

"If you work 16-18 hours a day – maybe. Hard to say. But if it were done so quickly, that might explain the one big mistake that the second artist made – in 1934 two panels were stolen and one of them was never recovered. So it was replaced after World War II – but the forger aged it in the same manner as the rest. This one is the easiest to distinguish. But still – no one will check this for years!"

"Thank you for your expertise. I hope you understand that this is confidential – we want to catch those responsible for the forgery."

"Of course. I brought all the information you asked for – a list of our employees, frequent museum visitors, a list of supplies that someone might have used."

Peter and his team - along with Interpol and help from their Belgian colleagues -were preparing a trap to bring down the criminals. Of course, there were still so many blank spots – who, why and when. They suspected that there must have been a buyer who ordered the forgery and – probably – supplied some money as well beforehand. It looked like someone had planned it for some time. And Peter would bet any amount of money that Neal was caught – somehow – in the middle.

The third clue came (or actually was sent) to the FBI's NY office general e-mail a few days after the discovery of the painting. Dr Susan Li from one of the NY's hospitals explained that one of her patients – a Caucasian male, in late twenties – early thirties, dark hair, skinny – was talking about Peter and the FBI. He said something what had sounded like "I didn't run." The patient was brought in by the NYPD – he wasn't too coherent and right now unconscious and in critical condition and without ID or anything that could help identifying him (apart from a photo which has to be pried from his palm – but it was crumpled beyond recognition – the colors faded, the shapes were unrecognizable). Dr Li knew that the e-mail had been a long shot but she was out of other options. Peter heard some interns talking about it and wondering what to do. His heart skipped a beat and he was on his way to the hospital in no time.

He called Diana from the car. "Diana, I might have found Neal. As soon as I confirm, get his medical file transferred to the hospital – I 'll send you details soon."

"Boss, is he all right?"

"No. I'll call you as soon as I know something. Call NYPD and ask them about the John Doe they brought to Bellevue almost a week ago."

"On it. Let us know asap."

"I will. Try to reach Mozzie."

"Ok."

_A week earlier_

"Frank, the girl's probably at home. Do you think we really have to enter this God-forgotten place? There will be rats…" Tommy – a rookie cop – told his TO. But Sgt Frank Michels, a seasoned NYPD cop, wasn't satisfied with his partner's trepidation. They parked their car in a neighborhood of warehouses, run-down buildings and what seems to be abandoned houses.

"Kid, stop whining. The dispatcher didn't call off the search. If it were for your child, you'd be looking everywhere. And if you sincerely want to survive your probation, you will listen to me and we will enter this abandoned building, do the search – by the book. Are we clear here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Her chances drop dramatically ever hour. And it's already November. Hard to survive the night on the streets without proper clothing."

All available resources were on the search for five-year-old Annie who had gone missing in the early morning when her mom had left her on the pavement just outside their house to go back inside to retrieve her cell phone. It had been over six hours now. The days were short in November in New York so everyone was trying to do their best to return the child to the devastated parents.

Frank questioned his partner about how the building search should be done and had him repeat what to do until the TO was sure that he would come back alive.

The building consisted of two floors with a basement. The door was open, windows boarded up, a single bulb was hanging from the ceiling in a room which probably a long time ago had been a place full of life. Now it was just damp, unkempt and unfriendly looking. And it smelled – something burnt – not a cake, rather oil? paint? some chemicals? The ground floor was dirty and provided no clue about the whereabouts of the missing child. The police officers cautiously climbed up the stairs. The corridor was as dirty as the ground floor. They searched room by room but found nothing. The scenery changed – the rooms were cleaner, a lot of lamps, some paint stains. Even something that seemed to be a functional bathroom and a dirty mattress on the floor. But no girl.

"Frank, I told you – we won't find her here! Let's go and grab a coffee!"

"Kid, there is still a basement to search."

Frank's partner just groaned. They descended the stairs slowly, step by step. The basement was as dirty as the ground floor. There were some boxes, rubbish lying around and prevailing dampness and stuffiness so typical for close spaces. The windows were covered by blinds. The cops lit the room with their torches.

Frank saw him first.

"Oh, my God. Tommy call for a bus and backup. Now!" Frank ran and knelt down next to the man who was lying on the ground shackled (the cop soon learnt that the shackles were welded – probably to avoid picking up locks) to the wall. He was skinny, naked up to the waist and barefoot. Colorful bruises and lacerations decorated his torso and back. The beating must have occurred recently – all the injuries looked fresh. His breathing was shallow and he was shaking.

"Sir, can you hear my? My name is Frank and I'm here to help you." The police officer checked the man's pulse. It was irregular but seems to be strong enough. The man was lying on his side and Frank didn't want to risk moving him. The man didn't respond.

"The bus will be here in 5-10 minutes. I can go back to the car and bring some blankets. Would you be ok on your own?"

"Ok. Call for the firefighters – we 'll need bolt cutters." Tommy nodded and radioed his partner's request. He was soon back with two blankets. They covered the man but didn't risk doing anything else. The medics arrived shortly afterwards – and with the help from the firefighters they cut the shackles and loaded the man into the ambulance.

All of them – mostly seasoned first-responders who dealt with many horrible situations every day – were shocked. It looked like someone had beaten the man and left him to die in here. A slow, painful death. Unspeakable cruelty… The CSIs didn't find much useful evidence – they took samples of the paint, photographed the scene. But there wasn't much else they could do.

The man woke up in the ambulance – he was terrified, not too coherent and couldn't answer any questions – the medics weren't sure if it was because of neurological damage or the psychological trauma. He kept trying to say something but was unable to make himself clear. The pattern was repeated in the ER. Dr Li, who was in charge of the patient's assessment, tried her best to understand him.

"Sir, I will remove the oxygen mask for a moment. Could you tell me your name?"

"e't'er' a'l p't'er'"

Dr Li tried to read his lips and also noted blood-shot eyes. He tried to squirm against too bright lights. She made a mental note to check it later. More life-threatening issues took precedence over this one. She tried to recognize what he wanted to convey.

"Peter? Your name is Peter?" The man tried to shake his head.

"Did Peter do this to you?" Another shake.

"Is Peter a friend?" A slight nod. _Good,_she thought.

"Can you tell me Peter's surname?"

"e'll h'm I d'n't run."

"Shall I tell him that you didn't run?" Another nod.

"Sir, his surname?"

"F'I."

"Could you repeat? The first letter is F, the last is I. What's in the middle?"

"B". The man pronounced the letter clearly but then he lost consciousness.

"FBI?" The assistant nodded, surprised.

"Ok, as soon as we have him stabilized, I will try to find his friend."

The man was ushered to emergency surgery soon afterwards. He had internal bleeding (slow, but still had lost a lot of blood). After the surgery, he was transferred to SICU and listed as critical. Dr Li and her staff were shocked by the man's condition and tried to bring him some relief. But the rest was out of their hands.

Dr Li decided to e-mail her request to the FBI – she was too busy to deal with possible red-tape on the phone to find the one right Peter who would make something out of the words – _I didn't run._She didn't expect that someone would come.

So after almost a week, she was surprised when an agent – Peter Burke came and looked for her. The man survived the whole week – and his chances were rising every day. He had graduated to 'serious' some time ago.

"Dr Li, I'm Agent Burke with the FBI. Probably the man you've been treating is Neal Caffrey – my consultant who went missing in June. How is he? I'm his medical proxy. Can I see him?"

"Yes, but be prepared – he doesn't look good. He's on a ventilator. You will notice many wires and tubes – please keep in mind that they are there to help him not to do harm."

When they entered the patient's room, Peter sighed and confirmed that – the man lying supine in the bed was – indeed – Neal Caffrey. It was hard to recognize him – he was thinner, paler and looking much younger and very fragile. There was always a lot of life in Neal – now he was so still.

Dr Li must have understood that Neal was more than a CI to the agent so she tried to assure him.

"Agent Burke, he is still critical but I'm a bit more optimistic about his chances to make a full recovery. It will take time but he is young and was in good health. Stay positive."

"Could you – Peter had to clear his throat – tell me more about his injuries?"

"Several broken or cracked ribs, concussion, lacerations on the back and torso, vivid bruising. Internal bleeding to the abdominal captivity, bruised liver and kidneys. Some respiratory problems and some minor contusions as well. Agent Burke, I don't know how to tell you – but from what I was told Mr Caffrey was beaten and left for certain death – he was found by coincidence only because a child was missing."

Peter didn't know what to think. Neal was beaten at the end of the job – that was obvious. The question remained – was he played by his co-workers in the end or from the beginning.

"Doctor, did you find anything that might suggest trauma prior to the beating?" Dr Li was slightly surprised.

"Why are you asking?"

"Doctor, we have to know if he was taken or ran away. It would change his legal status."

"Well, he had a broken left leg – several fractures in fact. From different times – from couple months old to couple weeks old. Some healed nicely, some didn't – they would require medical attention – surgery as soon as possible - but we have to wait until Mr Caffrey is a bit stronger. He is malnourished – it seems like he got just bare minimum to survive. He had ophthalmia and a stress fracture of one of his right wrist bones – about two weeks old, not treated. And some inflammation in ligaments and muscles on his lower right arm along with blisters on the palm."

"Is it possible that his injuries to the right hand and eyes came from some extensive work – like painting too much for long hours?"

"Well, it's possible. He had some paint on him as well. Agent, whatever he did, it seems like he was doing it for very long hours and for some time now."

"Ok. I will send one of my agent to stay 24/7 with Neal. He is in protective custody from now on – whoever did this is still at large. Please keep Neal's name out of the database."

"Not a problem. I will give you list of attending personnel and tell them to wear their identification tags."

"When are you going to remove the vent? I don't want to speed anything but…"

"You need his statement. I got it. But you will have to wait – if nothing changes, maybe at the beginning of the next week. You have to understand that Mr Caffrey is heavily medicated – we put him under so his body has a better chance to heal and he is not fighting the ventilator – but even without the sedatives, he will be in and out for a while. I wouldn't expect much information for the next 7 to 10 days."

"Damn it. Ok. His health is the top priority right now." Peter thanked the doctor and then called Jones and put him in charge of Neal's protection detail. Peter needed to do something active to keep from thinking about what had happened. He had thought that Neal was free and happy, and now he knew that the opposite was true.

"How is he?" Jones asked answering the phone.

"It was pretty touch and go for a while, but it seems more likely now that he'll survive. It will be a while until he's back on his feet. And he won't be able to give us a statement for another week or two." Peter heard Jones taking deep breaths to calm himself.

"Boss, I got in touch with the NY officers who found Neal. They are still pretty shocked – and one of them is a cop 15 years on the job. I have the address if you want to take a look. Diana can wait for you there. They will also send us any evidence they gathered."

"Ok."

The drive was quite a long one even though the traffic wasn't heavy. Peter didn't want to think what Neal must have been put through. Instead he focused on the clues, evidence. And then he saw it.

"Only Neal!"

Diana looked at him in disbelief.

"Boss?"

"Diana, get Mozzie here!"


	2. Chapter 2

Peter didn't want to know how Diana managed to get in touch with Mozzie so quickly. After Theo was born, Diana seemed to establish some kind of a bond with the little man. Peter didn't ask. It was better not to know – partnership with Neal had taught him that. Mozzie arrived quickly. And was fuming (or fuming much more than normally).

"Suit, I heard that Neal was found – no thanks to your lack of interest in his disappearance. I'm here to help Neal not you!"

"If you want to help him, don't tell anyone that he was found – the goons who put him in the hospital are still somewhere out there."

"You didn't make me travel through the whole city just to tell me this." Peter sighed and just pointed the wall to the little man.

"Neal! He's brilliant!" Mozzie exclaimed. So Peter's suspicion that the dots of paint weren't just dots proved right. Although the agent knew Morse code he had wanted to be sure he wasn't imagining things. He also needed Mozzie because a part of the message was encrypted.

Mozzie circled around the room and then moved one of the floorboards and found a hiding place underneath.

"Suit, I guess you will need to do whatever you do with the content." Peter approached carefully, donned gloves and started to retrieve items from their hiding place.

Diana looked at them in a shock.

"Could anyone tell me what's going on?" Peter sighed and told her:

"Neal left a message in the Morse code on the wall – it's addressed to me. He wrote that he hadn't run and that he had tried to get away from the goons." – _And that he's sorry, _but Peter kept these words only for himself –he knew that Moz would understand – but he felt that he was the one who should apologize to Neal. "He left some useful evidence – well hidden. His message also said to get Mozzie and remind him about their time in Paris." Diana looked at Moz – a question mark written all over her face.

"I'm not going to elaborate on the time in Paris. Alleged time in Paris…You'll do what you normally do and I'll just vanish now. I'm sweating profoundly and feel some irregularities in my breathing pattern with so many agents so close. And I zip-tie my lips so you can catch the bad guys who did this to Neal. And if _you_ fail..." And with his finger pointed, Mozzie was gone.

Peter and Diana called for backup and started to look at the evidence hidden by Neal. They knew that it was a smart plan – Neal had worded the message so even if someone knew Morse code, he wouldn't be able to find the evidence.

"Boss, this" – she pointed at the items on the floor – "could have been done only by Neal. It's amazing – first the paintings, then – all these: sketches, journey plans, names, dates. He gave us everything we need to catch the criminals."

Peter just smiled.

"Yes, he did."

The agent knew that only Neal could have prepared and hidden some many things unnoticed. He sketched the portraits of all the criminals who stayed in the house or who just appeared there. Peter couldn't help but chuckle at the nicknames _– Dumb, Huge fist, Fries, Smoker, Dumber._ He knew that by naming in such a manner the people who hurt him, Neal was trying to cope, to find some kind of control and grab it – he wanted to survive but knew that it was mostly out of his hands. Peter was fully aware that Neal's physical condition mirrored the psychological trauma he has been through. The agent always promised Neal that he would find him and catch him – and when the younger man needed him the most, he had failed. He didn't want to hear _Not your fault, _because this phrase wasn't in his dictionary.

The gang consisted of at least six people and out of them two or three permanently stayed in the house and watched Neal doing his work. Neal was a replacement – the paintings were supposed to be done by a young artist – a talented student named Jamie. He might have been talented but his survival instinct was non-existent. They had promised to pay him, but of course never intended to do so.

When the expert (in fact a subordinate of the lady who flew from Belgium the other day) saw too many flaws, the goons tried to encourage Jamie to do better. The "encouragement" didn't go well – and Jamie became a burden. Neal wasn't sure how they picked him – but apparently someone must have known someone and heard of Neal's reputation as an excellent forger. And they needed him sooner rather than later – Jamie (before he was beaten and probably thrown into Hudson river) had been behind schedule.

Neal was forced to paint with only catnaps. He tried to escape – so they broke his leg. More than once. He tried to resist – so they threatened him. They took pictures of everyone who Neal held dear – Peter and El, Diana with Theo, Jones, Mozzie, June and Sara. They even had a picture of Rebecca / Rachel – but he just laughed at them so they never talked about her anymore. Neal took notes of everything he found important. Details, names, connections… on bits of paper from his sketch books. …It was risky but Neal was aware that it might be his only chance to bring all of them to justice.

The paintings were ordered by some multibillionaire with mob connections – he paid up front for the supplies. They had been planning the forgery for over two years – they had ordered everything that might be needed months before, and had had it sent to different names and addresses.

"Boss, I guess that all the paperwork Caffrey had done paid off. I don't remember his case reports being so detailed!" Diana tried to find a bright side – she knew that Peter was beating himself up about the situation. She handed him a sheet of paper neatly folded with his name on it.

"Boss, this is addressed to you. Read it. We might not need this for evidence." Peter just nodded. He stepped outside and unfolded the paper.

_Peter,_

_I guess you found this. It means that you're safe. Give hugs from me to June, El, Sara, Diana and Theo, Jones,Hughes and of course Mozzie (or just say hello to the latter three). Drink some fancy coffee or some wine (beer would do) on my behalf._

_I didn't run. I needed freedom but I couldn't have done it to you. They took me from the park. They forced me to forge the Ghent Altarpiece. I did this to protect all of you – I guess you know it now. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to any of you. I hope (well, I'm sure actually) you will catch them._

_You would love Belgium – they have so many different brands of beer that in many bars they have to list them in alphabetical order._

_I'm sorry that I was a pain in the ass. You tried so hard to help me and I caused a lot of trouble. I don't have much time – everything you can use is in there – but I need to say goodbye. I know that this is the end. I'm almost done and I will soon become superfluous. Something snapped in my wrist and it hurts too much to paint. I can't keep going much longer… I guess my luck ran out. I can't con myself anymore. There will be no more borrowed time, no near miss, no Peter Burke coming and catching me… not this time. It's ok, though. I had a wonderful time working with you – we had our moments and I try to think of them now. The good ones. Thank you for always (or almost always) having faith in me and seeing a man, not a con._

_Don't put this in evidence – I have a reputation to maintain after all!_

_It's so hard to write this._

_Bye, Peter,_

_Neal_

Peter felt the tears threatening to burst through the dam he had tried to build. He needed a moment to catch his breath. And then he did what he was so good at – he suppressed his guilt and anxiety and let anger flow through his veins. Anger was good because it gave him the strength to harass, intimidate, investigate or do whatever he needed to do.

"Diana –take charge of the evidence. We'll meet in the office in 3 or 4 hours. We need to contact the legal team and our European colleagues. We still have plenty of time to plan a bust but confidentiality is top priority right now."

"On it boss. "

Peter called Jones and confirmed that there was someone trustworthy as Neal's guard.

"Boss, don't worry. I have it covered. Oh, and the evidence from NYPD is in your office."

On his way to the office, Peter decided to stop by at June's. She was at home. When she saw him with grim expression, she expected bad news.

"Is he dead?" She asked him in shaking voice.

"No, June. Neal is not dead. He's in the hospital but his condition is serious. Mozzie didn't tell you?" Peter was shocked that the little man actually listened to him.

"Oh my God… Mozzie - no, I haven't seen him for a while… he came here looking for Neal a few weeks ago. Nothing since that." She sighed heavily. "Neal, what did he get himself into this time?"

"For once it's not his fault. I can't tell you details – not now. But you have to promise me something – we have to keep Neal's name out of the system and small talk on the streets – until we catch the guys responsible for this."

"Peter! I can keep a secret! I was a wife of a conman!"

"June, I know. We have to be very careful. They think that Neal is dead."

"Oh my God… did they hurt him badly?"

"Yes. But the doctor is optimistic."

"I should be there with him. What if he wakes alone…"

"June, don't worry. Neal is unconscious and he will stay this way for a while. I can't tell you not to come, but he doesn't look good." June nodded with tears in her eyes.

"I will… I want… He's like a grandson to me."

"Ok. But-" Peter started.

"Don't worry – I will make up a story about visiting a relative. Please keep me updated if something changes. As soon as he's ready, he can have his room back."

"June, thank you. It will take a while, tough."

"That's ok. I'm patient and I'm good at waiting." She tried to smile.

After a quick goodbye, Peter headed to the office. El was in DC and she was supposed to be home for the weekend so he decided to wait until then to tell her about Neal.

As Jones said, the evidence, though it wasn't much, had been placed in his office. He looked at each item intently, then spotted the photo in the plastic evidence bag. As Dr Li had written in her e-mail, Neal had it in his hand when he was found. Peter looked at it carefully – shapes and colors were hard to distinguish. But he recognized it thanks to the greenish bottom part - it was grass in one of NY's parks. He vaguely remembered the day – some kind of charity event held by the FBI. All of them – Diana, Jones, El, June and Sara – and if his memory was correct– even Mozzie (though covering his head with his hands and demanding that they destroy the incriminating evidence) – were in the photo. His agents and his CI had been celebrating closing one of the tougher cases… He didn't remember which one. He might not remember details, but the feelings, ambience, emotions were harder to forget. Neal did so well. Peter remembered his CI smiling, laughing, talking, making everyone nuts, being… happy?

Peter decided to print a new photo – he was sure that the digital original must be somewhere – but was abruptly shaken out of his memories by someone knocking on the door.

"Come in." One of his probies entered the office.

"Agent Burke, I'm sorry to disturb you… But I brought something from all of us – I hope you can give it to Neal. Don't worry – Agent Jones told us to keep it quiet, so no one who's not working on the case knows about it. It's a "Get well" card and a gift card – it's valid pretty much everywhere. We wanted to buy flowers or something else for Neal – but we don't know what is allowed… It's just to let him know that… that he's not alone. I hope he won't feel offended…"

"No. He won't. Thank you." Peter looked at her and smiled. He was touched by the simple gesture – he knew that Neal wasn't everyone's favorite and some agents perceived him as a burden, not an asset to the FBI – yet, they managed to do something nice for him. The young lady excused herself and Peter got back to work. He met his agents in late afternoon.

"Ok. So – to sum up what we know – the goons want to exchange the originals for forgeries en route from the museum to the cathedral after the ceremony. They had access to them thanks to the guy from the museum – he recommended them as a company for transportation. They put their own men on as security guards as well. Then – they will put the originals in the truck – and as the moving company – deliver everything to the destination. The payment will be made upon arrival. What can we do to stop it?" While Peter was talking, he realized how much he actually missed Neal – because Neal would know exactly what to do and how to outsmart the criminals.

"Boss… Well, Neal made some suggestions…" Diana told him and smiled sadly. Peter looked at her. _Only Neal could make suggestions lying unconscious in the hospital, _he thought.

"He put them in his notes. The idea's a pretty simple one – apprehend the thieves in the act of switching the paintings, then replace them with police in disguise and deliver the forgeries to the person behind the theft. Neal doubted that the person who had ordered it, had ever seen all crew. _Remember about details such as an accent,_ he wrote." Peter just nodded. He couldn't decide either it was more amazing or more sad that Neal sorted out this case. Neal reminded Peter of David Seigel who – thanks to one note – solved his own murder.

In the course of the next few days, police on both continents worked out the details of Neal's plan, trying to anticipate any possible snags and provide built-in alternatives. The joint operation went well – and everyone from the White Collar Division was celebrating in the office. Peter wasn't sure what exactly he was celebrating more – catching the bad guys or the improvement of Neal's condition – the CI had come off the ventilator a few day before the bust (although it had taken him longer than the doctors expected and he hadn't awakened yet).

The agent visited Neal as often as he could. After coming back for the weekend, El stayed in NY for a week – she took some time off (she told her boss that one of her friends was in the hospital and his condition was serious. She was given, though reluctantly, a week of unpaid leave). Peter was grateful for her presence – it was much better to come back home when there was someone waiting for you. El was prepared to not return to DC after a week but he told her not to end her career like that. So she returned, handed in her resignation and worked for the two weeks she was obliged to stay according to her contract. _We will miss you, _she was told.

The day after the bust, the whole office (and the whole world) found out about it. There were many phone calls with congratulations. The Marshals weren't too happy about being kept out of the loop – but Peter managed to calm them. Well, actually Neal's status was complicated – Peter thought that he could manage to talk the Department of Justice into renewing Neal's deal (or maybe even nullifying his sentence) but he found soon that Neal wasn't seen as a victim in all of this.

"_He's a conman. Are you sure that he wasn't a part of this from the beginning? That he didn't plan the forgeries? Until we have all the evidence, he is under arrest. He will be transferred to the prison infirmary as soon as the hospital agrees to the transport," _he was told. Neal's hidden evidence, his physical condition seemed not to be enough.

"_It will have to be determined."_ Peter was told when he wanted to bring up the subject. The agent wasn't sure who he was dealing with – but he was damn sure that it must have been a twin brother (or a bunch of twin brothers) of people like the infamous Phil Kramer with his vengeance instead of justice, or the letter of the law instead of the spirit. He wanted to hug Dr Li when she called him and told him that they would take Neal away,_ over her dead body. _Peter knew that the prison would be the nail in Neal's coffin. And he wasn't planning to hammer one. The rescue came quite unexpectedly.

Peter, Diana and Jones among others were invited to the event held by the Belgian Embassy to celebrate the events. Somewhere in the middle of the evening, the Ambassador decided to talk to Peter privately.

"Agent Burke, on the behalf of my nation, I can't thank you enough."

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm not the only one – and I shouldn't take credit for all the hard work."

"Yes, I know. Actually, I would like to talk to you about the man who painted the forgeries." Peter became somber instantly. _Yeah, accuse the kid of the forgeries, add it to his sentence. Or send an assassin to kill him. Or let the goons to finish the job. Or just pull his IV or any other tube and wait, _Peter thought. The Ambassador must have sensed the change in Peter's attitude.

"Agent Burke, after the trial – we would like to retrieve the forgeries and put them in the cathedral. We realize that this masterpiece is not safe enough on public display and in the museum it will be better protected. But something should be put in the cathedral. The forgeries are so good that the archbishop agreed to show them instead of the original. I would like to ask the artist to repaint what was done by the student – so two panels. And of course – there will be monetary compensation for his work – all of it. I know that he needs a lot of time to heal – but we can wait. Do you think you can talk with him about it? I'm fully aware that the process might trigger so many bad memories – if he's not ready, if he doesn't want – it ok with me. We will pay him anyway – the forgeries are a masterpiece themselves."

"Sir, money is not the issue. His health – well, not as much." Peter had problems with forming words. "They want to put him back in prison – he was a CI on a work release and disappeared in June – they want to re-open his case."

"But from what I learned, he was a victim and a hero. Thanks to his notes, you with your European colleagues managed to catch the criminals!"

"Yes. Not everyone sees it in this way. For some people – he always be a criminal, a conman."

"Is there anything I can do?" Peter looked at the Ambassador and found him genuinely interested in Neal's situation. He shook his head.

"No, sir. Thank you sir, but I don't think so. You don't have a magic wand offering immunity for the past and hope for the future, do you?" Peter added in a soft voice smiling sadly.

"I don't. But you never should underestimate diplomacy, Agent Burke. Stop worrying about him and enjoy the evening."

Three days later, Peter made a solemn promise to never, ever underestimate the power of diplomacy. Because he got a phone call from the Department of Justice.

"_I don't know what and how you did it, Burke. But we got very strong pressure – from the very top – to let Neal Caffrey off the hook. Damn it, even to offer him immunity! I have to tell you one thing, Burke – remind me not to be your enemy, ok?"_

Very soon a parcel was delivered with all the paperwork

…_extraordinary service… endangering his life to protect the world heritage…proof that the mistakes of past should be forgiven… heroic actions under extreme duress… undeniable talent…_

Peter read Neal's papers and couldn't believe – Neal suddenly became a free man with full immunity for past crimes.

Later another parcel came – a basket full of boxes of chocolates for Mr Neal Caffrey – with the card from the Ambassador. And for Mr Peter Burke – the Ambassador's private number and request to contact him.

"Sir, I can't thank you enough for what you did!" Peter called and thanked the Ambassador.

"Agent Burke, I told you not to underestimate diplomacy. I hope the kid uses the chance he's getting." Peter assured him that Neal would – Peter would make sure of that. And he would make sure that Neal painted the panels – even if he had to drag him to every therapist in NY first.

The only problem right now was that Neal – to do all of this – had to wake up first.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter visited Neal as often as he could. The younger man was still pale but the doctors were telling everyone that he was on the mend. He was off the ventilator but hadn't awakened yet. _He will do it when he is ready. His body needs time. Be patient. He has a long road ahead of him. _Peter was told. It didn't stop him from worrying. And he hated the phrase – barring_ any complications._ Neal's doctor seemed to finish each sentence with this phrase.

Peter often thought about the incredible luck that had helped them – if it weren't for a five-year-old kid who had gone missing (and was luckily found a few hours after Neal, wandering in a park – scared, but unharmed), they wouldn't have been able to find Neal in time. Then the crane. Then the doctor who sent the e-mail. Then the dots. Neal – only Neal – could have encrypted the message in Morse code that looked like paint stains or drops. Only Neal could have painted such a great masterpiece in such a short period of time. Only Neal could have done it to protect his friends.

Neal stirred and his eyes fluttered from time to time but he never managed to fully wake up. Peter begged, cajoled and even threatened – but Neal seemed to be immune to his efforts (or anyone's else efforts for that matter). _Time. Give him time. _He heard the doctors. And they had all time in the world – the case was closed, bad guys behind bars, paintings untouched, recommendations and acknowledgments waiting to be read, freedom within reach. He just needed his CI – no damn it, his friend – to open his eyes. Peter promised Neal to buy him fancy coffee, let him change the radio stations in the car allow Neal to annoy him without complaining about it, if – no – when he woke up. _I have so much good news to tell you. C'mon, buddy_.

Of course, the agent had to be back in the office but there was always someone with Neal – El, June, Diana, Jones. His agents took a day off when nobody else could stay in the hospital. Moz dropped by, even Alex and Sara. They didn't want his friend to wake up alone and frightened.

As the days passed, Peter began to think that Neal was doing this on purpose – to annoy him. He knew that it was stupid – but he would do anything to see Neal's blue eyes and hear his voice, damn it – even think about what he was up to. Peter would bribe anyone – but there was no bribe and no one to take it. No Welsh gold coins to steal to save his friend. No diamond to find, no bad guys to con. No devil to sell his soul to.

_He __had gone __through a lot of trauma during __the __past months. Stay positive. _Doctors assured him when they entered Neal's second week without the ventilator. Months. No – Peter wanted to correct them – not months but years. He didn't want to think how long Neal was under extreme stress – was it just in prison or before as well? Youth or maybe childhood? What about his time as CI – and Peter's threats to send him back behind bars?

Rationally – and Peter always consider himself a reasonable man, he understood this – but he wanted, needed- Nealto tell him he had done an incredibly good job. The doctors fixed Neal's leg – and Neal was expected to make a full recovery – of course after a lot of physiotherapy. _Barring_ _any complications. _

Along with heavy rain and cold nights that happened more and more often in late November, the word _coma _made its first shy appearance. Peter didn't want to believe – but the proof was lying so still in the bed. _I'm sorry. It's out of our hands now. It's up to him. _Peter was losing sleep and weight (and maybe even sanity) when they started considering the best options for long-term care.

Then Neal – one day – not particularly sunny or rainy, cold or warm – just a regular day – woke up. June was with him. – The doctors had encouraged everyone to talk to Neal – so she had been speaking to him just as she always did, as if he were awake. He woke up suddenly – almost gasping for air, like waking up from a nightmare too real. June pressed the call button immediately and tried to calm him.

"Neal, sweetie, you are safe. Please calm down." When he recognized June, he didn't calm down, yet – he became even more agitated and scared. He tried to tell her something – but with his voice so hoarse from not being used, his throat scratchy after the tube, not much was heard. June – with Dr Li's approval – lifted his bed to a more upright position and gave him some ice chips. He whispered to her with tears in his eyes,

"I'm s'rry. I didn't want you to get hurt! I didn't want you to die." June and Dr Li exchanged worried glances. Neal didn't seem to pay any attention to his surroundings. He definitely didn't notice that he was in the bed hooked up to many machines.

"Sweetie, you are in the hospital. I'm alive and so are you. This nice doctor here made sure of that. And it was hard work." June pointed at Dr Li who stood nearby waiting for Neal to be more lucid.

"H'sp't'al?" Neal didn't seem to be convinced.

"Yes, sweetie. Everyone is ok. Dr Li would like to check you over." Before Dr Li could move, Neal grabbed and clutched June's hand.

"You are real?"

"I'm me – your June."June answered choking back tears. She sat down on Neal's bed and cautious of his still healing injuries, far too thin frame and all wires or tubes, hugged him gently.

"I'm real, sweetie. You're alive. We all are safe. Peter caught the bed guys." Dr Li glanced at the monitors and mouthed to June that she would be back. The doctor needed to give them a bit of privacy – Neal wasn't in any immediate danger, so the medical check-up was less important than the psychological comfort he needed. After a few minutes of sobbing and hugging, Neal (and June) calmed a bit. Neal tried to untangle himself from the hug, so June rearranged pillows and eased him down. Neal tried to scrutinize the room and take stock of his body. He slowly moved his head, wiggled his fingers, tried to stretch his limbs. June pressed the call button once more.

"Neal, you need to take it easy, ok? Slowly." Neal's movements were sluggish and his body seemed not to obey his commands in a normal way. He looked at the wires, tubes and monitors, soft cast on his wrist and leg.

"It doesn't hurt. It's warm." His voice was still not-like-typical-Neal's voice shooting thousands words a minute, a bit too low, far too raspy. June and Dr Li who just arrived smiled at his words.

"Well, Neal, we have a lot of good drugs and we pumped some into you. My name's Dr Li and I'm responsible for your treatment. Is it ok if June steps outside the room?" Neal looked like he was far from ok with June going anywhere.

"Sweetie, I'll be just outside, ok? Don't worry I'll right back, ok?" June tried to reason.

"No…" Was the only response. With no choice. June stayed. She wanted to make phone calls, tell everyone the good news, but Neal needed her more.

"Ok. Neal how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." The comment was a bit more typical for the conman. Dr Li bashed herself. She should have known better to ask such a vague question. So she became more detailed when she checked Neal's vitals, his feeding tube and other tubes, listened to his lungs. When Neal was asked some general questions to assess his neurological and cognitive functions, he was more Neal-like. His answers were really detailed and Dr Li dropped the subject – his brain seemed to be intact, but his emotional state was harder to assess.

"I'm not stupid. " He commented. June chuckled and replied,

"Neal, sweetie, we were worried. You slept for a long time and the doctor must check if everything is as it should be."

"I told you I'm fine."

"I don't want to know your definition of 'fine.' And don't you dare ask when you are allowed to be discharged." June commented.

"But…" Neal weakly tried to protest.

"Neal, I'm glad you are doing ok. Your muscles might be sore – and you might get tired easily. We will check your wrist and leg tomorrow – I will schedule a CT scan. In a day or two we will discuss the next steps in your treatment. Right now rest and try to eat something. " Dr Li told him.

"I don't like the tubes." Neal whined. June smiled – a Neal who complained about the hospital was a good sign.

"Sweetie, as soon as you keep down some food, the doctor will remove them, ok?" June assured.

"Neal, what about some soup? I think that we can arrange that to start with."

"I hate hospital food…" Dr Li shook her head and laughed.

"I can turn a blind eye on some out-of-the-hospital supplies. Nothing too rich, though – not for the first few days. I'll let you two talk for a while – Neal, if you need something, feel any pain, press the call button. The nurse will bring you some broth soon. And try not to talk too much." Dr Li excused herself. June caught her glance and whispered _thank you_. Dr Li just smiled and gestured that she would call Peter. June smiled and nodded.

Neal was becoming more lucid by the minute. And not-talking wasn't an option.

"June, did Peter find me?"

"No, sweetie, some police officers did. You were in a very bad shape. Peter found your clues and they – with international cooperation – caught the criminals in the act. All of them – including the man who ordered the painting."

"Peter is in New York?"

"He went to DC, but didn't like the desk job and he came back. El followed him some time ago." June wasn't sure if she was supposed to tell him about Hughes' death.

"How long have I been in the hospital?"

"You were brought in almost a month ago. Don't worry about it right now – you will be as good as new in no time." June knew that it was a white lie – he wasn't going to be the same person – not after such a trauma.

"Oh. I don't remember. I…I thought that I was going to die. They…" He trailed off and started playing with his blanket. He was checking the mobility of his right wrist.

"Sweetie, it's ok if you want to talk about what happened."

"Not really. I painted then they beat me and left me. So… what's the verdict? Am I going back? " Neal changed the subject. June noticed that he was already quite tired. But she knew that he needed some answers – she would prefer Peter tell him about his freedom – the agent deserved that.

"Going back where?"

"To prison. I didn't run – but probably everyone assumed that I did."

"Sweetie, right now we have to focus on your recovery – and I think that Peter will bring you some good news."

"Being a CI for the next two hundred years is not considered 'good news.'" His ability to be sarcastic was evidently intact.

June was saved from a response by the arrival of broth. Neal eyed it suspiciously – but drank half of it.

"It wasn't that bad."

"If you start feel unwell, let me know, ok? If you can keep it down, we will try some richer soup later," June commented.

"Ok." Neal yawned.

"Sweetie, close your eyes. You need your rest."

"I slept for a month. It should be enough."

"Well, apparently it isn't." She tucked him in and Neal was asleep in no time. June sighed with relief – the freedom speech would be delivered by Peter who arrived within the next hour – relief evident on his face.

"Peter, he doesn't want to talk about what happened. Maybe he will open up a bit but I'm not sure. He's worried about going back to prison. I left the big good news for you to tell but be aware that he shouldn't be too agitated. "

"Thanks, June. I will sit with him."


	4. Chapter 4

June went home. Dr Li came to check on her patient in the afternoon.

"I was told that he was awake." Peter didn't want to sound like a petulant child – but he needed Neal awake and talking.

"Agent Burke, he was awake. You have to understand to he will be in and out for the next few days."

"I know…But it doesn't make it easier. Dr Li just smiled.

"He is doing fine – his internal injuries are mostly already healed. We will know more about the state of his leg and wrist tomorrow – but it looks good. If everything goes according to plan, we will start physiotherapy in a day or two. He should be out of the hospital within two to three weeks."

"Good luck with that. You'll be lucky if you get a week without whining and complaining."

"He needs to get his strength back. Before we discharge him, Neal has to be able to eat normally and move on his own. So it's your role, Agent Burke to convince him to stay. And good luck with that." Dr Li smiled. They knew that it wouldn't be an easy task to keep Neal in the hospital under medical supervision.

Neal's eyelids started to flutter in the early evening. Peter was by his bedside immediately and tried to wake him.

"C'mon, Neal. Enough with sleeping. Open your eyes."

"P't'r?"

"Yes."

"Hey."

"Hey, you too. Let's get you some water in you. I brought you soup – El put it in the thermos so it should be warm enough." Peter gave him water and poured some soup into a cup.

"El will come by tomorrow. She promised to cook you something good. Are you up to it?"

"El's cooking? Always." While Neal ate his soup, Peter observed him silently. He was trying to use his right hand, but his movements were restricted, constrained, careful. He was eating slowly but at least he was eating.

"It's so good. Thank El for me."

"Not a problem."

The silence started to become awkward. Small talk was too trivial for the occasion, and the important topics too difficult to start. Peter had rehearsed his first talk with Neal many times, but now he seemed at a loss for words. Finally, Neal said, "Peter, I'm a bit disappointed. You promised to always find me and some beat cops were better than you." Neal tried to sound offended but was grinning at Peter. The agent decided to suppress his guilt and take the bait. Maybe Neal needed some witty conversation, something that reminded him of good times,

"Well, it wasn't an easy task – you didn't leave any clues."

"It didn't stop you before." Neal was still smiling – and Peter was more than happy to see it.

"I may have to reconsider the El's food offer," Peter threatened.

Neal gave in instantly. "No…I want to get rid of the tubes and hospital food is not edible."

"Just as well," Peter laughed. "I doubt if I could keep El from coming up and tempting you with all sorts of delicacies she thought would be good for you."

He continued, "I do have a question for you, though. It's hard to believe that even in the state you were in you'd make such an egregious error about aging the panel that was replaced in the '40's. Have I been overestimating your expertise all these years?" Peter was hoping to get a reaction from Neal, his "offended face" or something like it, showing the same old Neal was still there under the bandages and pain killers. He could, of course, have just said what he thought, that it was clever of Neal to try to send a signal about the forgeries this way, but thought engaging in their usual repartee would give him a better opportunity to see if the 'old' Neal was still there. His reaction, however, was totally unexpected.

Neal moved a bit and paled suddenly. Peter was on his feet in no time. He castigated himself severely. _He was doing so well. I should have kept him calm. Small talk, not talking about the case._

The reference to the replacement panel did trigger a bad memory. When the expert realized what Neal had done, the thugs tried to teach Neal 'a lesson.' Neal managed to convince them that it wasn't his fault – that he hadn't known about the theft and the panel's replacement. There was no time left to re-do the panel so they took what he had prepared. The memories – conning the bad guys, beatings, waiting for the rescue, almost dying –were terrifying for Neal – but he wasn't caught in the flashback. His fear was not because of the past, but because of the future. He was afraid that Peter didn't want to tell him the bitter truth. When Peter had engaged in this type of conversation – a poor attempt to their usual banter – he was sure that he had done it only to avoid the other option – talking about the repercussions for Neal. Neal knew that many people perceived him as a conman – for some of them he was nothing more than a criminal. Always a criminal. Neal was sure that he would be either thrown back in prison with a lot of additional charges or put back on the anklet with an extended sentence. He wasn't even sure if the anklet was an option…He didn't see that June and Peter wanted to prepare him for good news. Instead, he was convinced that there was no such a thing as good news…

"Neal, I'm calling a doctor!" Peter pushed the call button but Neal only rolled his eyes.

"Stop. I'm fine."

"Humor me. The sheets have more color than you at the moment."

"I'm fine. Stop hovering. You're imagining things."

"Let the medical personnel be the judge of that."

"Peter – I don't want to be fussed over! C'mon! And besides it's not like that! I knew about the stolen panel and I did it – I aged it on purpose. I hoped some one would notice."

"Oh." _I knew it!_ Peter thought and was sure that there was some kind of bet in the Bureau…

"You should have known that! I'm hurting, Peter…"

"Hold on, Neal. The nurse should be here soon. "

"Emotionally."

This time Peter rolled his eyes And if he weren't on edge, he would have laughed. Instead he just stared at Neal in disbelief.

"And I blame my paleness on the lack of proper vacation time for CI's." Neal added and grinned. He was trying to get Peter to give him some kind of clue about his future. Of course, he could try to ask Peter directly - but Neal rarely did anything in a direct, not complicated way. Besides, he was too afraid to ask. Maybe he was even trying to put off knowing for sure. Not knowing hurt, but knowing that your future didn't belong to you, that you would be locked away or on someone's else leash for some unknown future length of time , might hurt even more. And at this moment Neal wasn't really grateful for having been rescued. He had given up hope –in the basement – and now – his hopes had been rekindled when he awakened in the hospital. The thought of having all hope extinguished again was just too painful.

But before Peter could strangle the kid (for almost giving him a heart attack) or at least give him a proper response – telling him that he is not a CI anymore, a nurse arrived. Neal used his charm and tried to flirt with her but she checked his vitals anyway. He might be worried about his future, but he had other problems as well – he hated being touched, checked, fussed over.

"Nice try, sir. I'm married. Happily. For almost 20 years. And you need to rest."

"Please call me Neal." Neal grinned at her.

She smiled, nodded and then pointed her finger at Peter:

"Agent Burke either you will leave this poor boy and let him rest or I will kick you out of this room. Don't try to use your badge or you will be Neal's sentry in the corridor! He's in no condition to be questioned."

Peter tried to protest that he wasn't questioning Neal, but the nurse gave him a stern look with a hidden message _Don't mess with me. _Neal grinned at him and muttered "Poor boy."

"And you – Mr Ca-, Neal – better be resting next time I'm here."

"I've slept enough!" Neal told her. She just glared at him.

"I bet my monthly pay-check that you will sleep a lot over the next weeks. And you have to listen to your body –sleep when you feel you are tired. If you don't want to sleep, please rest – you can watch some TV, listen to some music - but try to keep the level of the excitement low. " She left. Neal decided to return to the previous topic, despite his fear.

"So what about vacation time for CIs?"

"Well, we have to talk about the future. But I need your promise that you won't get agitated – if she comes back and kicks me out, I will be sleeping on the couch until the end of the century. And I don't want to think of June's or Moz's reactions. Can you do that for me?"

"Let's try. Peter, I really need to know…"

"I know buddy…"

"Geez, Peter, spill it!"

"Ok. No prison. No anklet. No past catching up with you and destroying your future. I'm more than happy to announce that you will walk out of the hospital a free man with full immunity for past crimes – when Dr Li clears you. Not even a minute earlier. And don't try to think of doing something against-medical-advice. I will bring the papers to sign the day you will be discharged. Let's call it insurance." Peter smiled.

This time Neal was sure that he paled.

"Damn it, Neal. I shouldn't have told you. I should have waited until you are a bit stronger. Breathe."

"I'm ok… I was sure that there would be the anklet or prison…Thank you." Neal had tears in his eyes. Peter sat on his bed and patted his uninjured leg.

"Well, you should thank the Belgians but no more talking about it. We'll return to the subject when you don't look like death warmed over. "

"Shall I cowboy up now?"

"Don't you dare! I want you to tell anyone who is nearby if something wrong is going on – any pain, dizziness, anything, ok?"

"Peter, I didn't know that you had such a protective mode." Neal tried to joke.

"For your information – I do. And I'm planning on using it starting right now. You are going back to sleep." Neal didn't protest – he was still weak . Of course he knew that it was a normal reaction but he didn't like it. It felt like his body had betrayed him – had decided to play on its own with the drowsiness, tiredness, weakness. Peter tucked him in.

"Peter?"

"Do you need anything?"

"It's stupid but could you tell me something about New York, your cases, El, Satchmo… What was going on when I…" He didn't finish.

"Ok." Peter smiled and started talking about his coming back to New York, moving back into their old house, El's new job. Neal tried to listen but soon fell asleep listening to Peter's soothing voice talking about everyday things.

Neal slept for a while but then started to fidget and cried out, "No! I'll do it! Leave them alone!"

"Neal, open your eyes. You are safe. We all are safe." Peter looked gently into big blue eyes – full of fear, trying to project safety and comfort. It took Neal some time to calm down – to believe that he was in the hospital. The nurse arrived but when Peter whispered _nightmare, _she looked at the monitors and left them. The medical staff knew that Neal had been through hell and back and they expected this kind of situation. Dr Li told them that a sedative could be administered as a last resort – but she didn't want to put Neal under unnecessarily.

"Buddy, do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine." Neal didn't want to talk about what happened. The goons had threatened his friends continuously. He only wanted to forget what they told him.

_June seems to be such a nice lady. Big house and nobody to hear her screams. It would be such a shame to send him to the orphanage – Theo seems to be such a nice kid. But mamma might have some bad luck. El – such a nice lady, isn't she? Peter – maybe we should check how he deals with the loss of his wife or more time in prison. Jones – does he have any family to mourn him? _

Peter didn't push him. He knew that Neal should talk to someone, but also knew that it wouldn't be an easy task to convince him. Neal fell asleep again and Peter kept vigil – when he recognized signs of an oncoming nightmare, he whispered soothing words. It somehow managed to calm Neal and he slept peacefully through the rest of the night. But the road to health was still going to be long and winding.


	5. Chapter 5

Neal was moved to a private room two days after he had awakened. He noticed all the 'get well' cards, and that the photo he had cherished so much during his captivity had been framed and put on his nightstand. He knew that his friends wanted to tell him how much they cared and worried about him so he got also a lot of visitors – Peter, El, June, Moz, Sara, Jones, Diana and even people he barely knew. Neal was a people person but he rarely built deep relationships and he was used to doing a lot of things on his own – even caring for himself while sick or injured. He didn't know what to do with the attention he was receiving, all the coddling and hovering, all _what can I get you, would you like something, are you in pain. _

And then – his future – he had dreamt of it, but he had learned the hard way that dreams rarely came true. The torture had changed him – even if he didn't want to admit it. Before his kidnapping he would have been unrealistically optimistic about his future, now – he was uncharacteristically pessimistic about it. Where he would normally had seen chances, now he saw obstacles.

So of course he thought that even now the news was much too good to be true. Unconsciously he was waiting for Peter to tell him that there were some complications, that he would end up back in prison because someone changed his or her mind, decided to take back what had been given. When his papers arrived, he didn't even want to look at them – because looking and signing meant believing in a dream and being responsible for living a new – crime-free life. There was a certain carefree fatalism in his previous life. Taking a chance on hope was much more difficult. All of this – the chance, the promise of a better future, scared him – and Neal didn't do 'scared.' So instead he tried to build a wall, put up a façade – but he was sure that everyone had seen all the cracks. He was afraid he wasn't ready to take on all these responsibilities – he was deeply afraid that he would blow his chance, that he wouldn't be able to resist the temptations offered by the life outside the law. Of course, he kind of liked being on the right side of the law, maybe because he had so many opportunities to legally run cons. Maybe Peter was right – that he was a character from a 'cartoon.' Peter Pan – a mind (at least the emotions) of a 5-year old trapped in the body of a man in his early thirties. Maybe others were right as well – that deep inside he would always be a criminal.

For the first time in his life he actually liked being in the hospital. He knew what to expect, he didn't have to make any choices (and even the smallest ones sometimes freaked him out). When they asked him what he would like to eat, do, wear, he had to think hard – and he often just shrugged his shoulders or told them that it didn't matter. Maybe he desperately wanted to prove to everyone that he deserved the second chance – that he was mature, responsible and law-abiding. So each choice he made became a choice between good and bad, freedom and prison. He was afraid that he would do something wrong and be punished. The rational part of his brain seemed to be too deeply influenced by the emotional part full of fear and anxiety rather than hope. And Neal hated himself for this – he always had been way too composed, too rational, too analytic. He knew that if he let emotions cloud his judgments, it would sooner or later lead to smaller or bigger catastrophe – like when he went after Kate or Fowler, when he made a deal with life was about to be turned upside-down and he needed some kind of guidelines. Life as a criminal, life in prison, life as a consultant – each had some structure, predictability he had known. Life as a free man – was something new and scary. Neal let anxiety to take over and it led to many problems with everyday choices. When he was asked by Peter, what he would prefer to eat, "I can bring some Italian pasta or anything from the small bistro you like or some Chinese. What would you want?", his typical answer was: "Up to you. I don't know. Both choices are fine with me" Neal rationally knew that choosing Italian over Chinese, wouldn't put him into any trouble, but he reluctantly allowed himself to make any choice. He didn't ask himself what he would want, he rather asked about what the others thought he _should_ have wanted.

Neal's physical condition improved more quickly and without much drama. He was getting better even though it took more time that he expected. The tubes and wires were disappearing slowly but steadily. The physiotherapy was successful (though painful and tedious) and Neal was soon moving on his own (well, with the aid of crutches). Dr Li decided that Neal was doing well enough to go home about ten days before Christmas. She still had reservations about his emotional health however, and expressed them to Peter as she was giving him Neal's discharge instructions.

"Agent Burke, physically he is doing as well as can be expected – but his psychological condition is harder to assess. Nurses and therapists working with him have told me that he is very compliant, very quiet – he did as he was told but nothing more – he didn't show any initiative, he seemed to be afraid of questions like _what would you like_. He's had nightmares from time to time. He eats enough but has to be reminded and encouraged to do it. I am discharging him because maybe a safe home environment will be more beneficial. Give him space but keep an eye on him. His psychological symptoms are a little worrying."

Peter had already observed Neal's excessive passivity. He also didn't like the fact that Neal wasn't trying to push his discharge date. He was too quiet for the agent's liking, rarely making a fuss and making no effort to flirt with the nurses.. When Peter brought immunity papers to sign, it took Neal over two days to do it. – He didn't ask any questions, probably he even didn't read them. _Depression, PTSD…_crossed Peter's mind but Neal didn't want to talk about his captivity – not with Peter, not with June, nor with El or Moz. He shrugged off the idea of talking to someone –_I'm not crazy_he told them and dropped the issue. He had to give a statement – and he did. But his words were detached, emotionless.

_I painted – they watched. I tried to escape – they caught me and broke my leg. I tried to sleep – they use tasers on me. I ate what little they gave me._

_When I was done with the panels, they took me to the basement. They put some chains on my ankle – I don't remember exactly and they hit me – with hands, bat, then kicked me. I don't know for how long – I lost consciousness and woke up in the hospital. I don't remember anything else._

He didn't want to talk about his future, either. He didn't react in any way to Peter's job offer. Nor to Sara's for that matter. He told them _I'll think about it._ And he never gave them any answer.

Peter wheeled Neal outside the hospital to his waiting car on his discharge date. They had argued about the best possible housing arrangement for Neal. He didn't want to live with Burkes so June had rearranged one of the rooms on the ground floor so Neal could be on his own and the stairs wouldn't be a problem. He was still going to physiotherapy but even June couldn't convince him to go see someone to talk to. Neal argued with everyone that he was _fine._But nobody believed him. They let him be – but everyone was worried. Neal was as far away from _fine_ as one could possible imagine – and the worst of it was that they didn't know what had caused his state. Of course, the kidnapping and brutal beatings must have taken toll on him but his captivity seemed to be only partially responsible for his attitude. He had wanted freedom so badly that they expected some happiness, hope, even cockiness when Peter announced that Neal had been granted what he had dreamt of. And it didn't make sense – Neal didn't make any plans, didn't talk about his future.

The White Collar Division decided to throw a small party just before Christmas – to celebrate not only the fact that Neal was a free man, but perhaps even more – the fragility and value of life. Besides, Christmas seemed to always be a good excuse to meet and express some joy. Neal, however, seemed uninterested in anything related to Christmas. He had rejected all invitations to Christmas dinner. Peter suspected that he hadn't bought gifts for anyone as well. Not that anyone expected big presents – they were more a gesture than anything else – but Neal's reluctance to do it worried them even more than his pale skin and sunken cheeks.

The Belgian Ambassador promised to come to the office party – he wanted to meet Neal, thank him and ask about the possibility of painting the panels that had been painted by the student, not Neal. Belgians wanted to have the copy of the Ghent Altarpiece painted by one suspected that the latter wasn't an option – Neal hadn't drawn, sketched or painted anything since he had regained consciousness in the hospital. Even without anything else, this was the final proof that 'Neal' and 'fine' did not belong in the same sentence.

Neal attended the office party wearing one of his classic suits along with his trade mark smile that, sadly, didn't reach his eyes. Conversation centered around Christmas plans, gifts, food, all the usual things. Neal only nodded, smiled and picked at his food. Eventually the Ambassador asked for a private talk with Neal and Peter. They entered Peter's office and stood by the window enjoying the view. Neal was using the cane to support himself.

"Mr Caffrey, I'm glad that you're doing better. I would like to ask if it would be possible for you to paint the two panels painted by the student? You don't have to give me your answer right now – please think about it. I hope you will agree and it will be the last thing you forge." The Ambassador's attempt at a joke would normally have prompted Neal to laugh and reply with a witty comment. But this time the words seemed to feed his fear, to be a proof that he didn't deserve this chance. He interpreted the Ambassador's words far differently than the Ambassador had intended._Because you will always be a criminal. Conmen don't change. Enjoy your freedom while you can. It won't last forever.__You will be back in prison soon__. _What Neal heard sent him into a panic attack. His weakened body betrayed him before he could reply, and his knees buckled. Only Peter's quick reaction saved him from landing on the floor.

"Whoa, buddy. Let's get you down." The Ambassador exchanged worried glances with Peter. Within seconds, Neal was seated in one of Peter's chairs, his head bowed and his tie loosened. Peter called for the FBI medic to come in the most discreet way possible and have a look at Neal. The Agent shushed Neal when he had tried to protest.

"I'm sorry. I'm fine. Just give me a minute and some water," Neal tried to convince them.

"Agent Burke, I will keep Neal company if you can organize some water." Peter nodded and left the office. He didn't want to cause Neal additional embarrassment so he tried to act normally.

Seeing Diana, he said, "Neal collapsed in my office and I called for a medic to come have a look. Can you quietly show him up to my office without letting anyone else know?"

"On it, Boss. How's Neal? What happened?"

"I'm not sure. His knees buckled. Damn it, I should have dragged him to someone to talk to – I doubt it was caused only by his physical state. Let's just hope it's nothing serious and we won't end up in the ER. Dr Li would strangle me."

While Peter was organizing the water (some juice and something to eat as well – he suspected that Neal and breakfast didn't meet that morning), the Ambassador tried to apologize to Neal.

"Mr Caffrey, I'm sorry if something I said caused you distress. The comment about 'your last forgery' was just a poor attempt at a joke."

"It's ok." Neal replied. His eyes were closed and he was trying to even out his breathing.

"No, it's not ok."

"But you were right – I'm a criminal and always will be. It's probably just a matter of time before I blow the chance you helped arrange for me. The least I can do is to paint the panels. And I'll do it as soon as my leg is better. If you need it sooner, I'll find a way to do it."

"Son, no. You will do it when or maybe even more significantly if you are ready. No piece of art – even the most precious one – is worth your pain or any discomfort you might be in. You are far more important and valuable that all the paintings and sculptures in the world. You survived the hell of your captivity and you risked your health, your life, to gather the evidence to put these men away. I know that many people have some doubts about you – but I'm afraid that you doubt yourself the most."

"Once a criminal, always a criminal."

"Son, don't think like that. So-called good people sometimes commit horrible crimes – and so-called bad people put their life on the line to protect someone else. And who would be the sinner and who would be the saint – it's not easy to decide. Life gives us many trials – orders us to choose, laughs at us, gives us bad luck when we need a break and good luck when we've lost our faith. We never know who we could become at the end. Don't be afraid. The future is unpredictable." Neal didn't reply. But the words seemed to have some effect on him.

"You have so many people who care about you. Don't keep them at arm's length. Let them help you, be with you. Maybe talk you out of some untrue and unproductive ideas you might have." The Ambassador smiled gently. Neal had tears in his eyes. He didn't want to break down in front of a man he barely knew, in an office full of agents, so he just whispered, "Thank you."

"Son, nothing to thank me for. Please take care – you are an incredible young man and I hope that – if you feel up to it – we might have dinner some time and discuss European art. And don't worry about the panels." The Ambassador squeezed Neal's shoulder and when Peter came back excused himself.

"Neal, the medic is on the way. Here is your water. Did you eat something this morning? I won't yell, promise. You barely touched your food here."

"A bit. I wasn't really hungry."

"Ok. How about some juice?" Neal tentatively took a sip. The medic arrived soon – dressed in casual clothes for which both Neal and Peter were thankful. Peter quickly explained the situation. After some probing and prodding, he ordered Neal to drink some fluids and eat something.

"Sir, I don't see any cause for a immediate trip to the ER – but it's your call. Let's try to get some fluids and food in you. If you keep it down, just go home and rest. If you feel any worse, you should get yourself checked out in the ER."

Neal was really grateful that he was spared the trip to the ER – at least for the time being. He obediently ate some pastries and drank his juice. He felt better – a bit. The Ambassador's words were still fresh in his mind and Neal realized that the older man was right – he had friends who were ready to help him, but first he needed to accept their assistance.

The drive to June's was silent. When Peter helped him get settled in his room, Neal said, too quickly for Peter to translate, "Petercouldyoustayforawhileplease?"

"What was that? Are you in pain? Shall I call the doctor? Do you need anything?" Peter's overprotectiveness suddenly struck Neal as funny. Neal started laughing. Truly and hard. But after a while, his laughter turned into sobs and within minutes Neal was a weeping mess. Peter wasn't good at comforting so he simply hugged Neal and let him cry. The agent sighed with relief – it was the first time when Neal had expressed any emotions so openly since his rescue. It wasn't nice or pleasant, but it was necessary. The younger man calmed after a while.

"Sorry." He whispered trembling slightly, mostly from exhaustion.

"Nothing to be sorry about. Let's get you under the covers."

"Peter, do you think I could…it would be…you know, Christmas dinner with you…" Peter tried to hide his smile.

"Of course. You can even bring Mozzie if you want. El always cooks enough for a small army."

"Thanks…And…are…are you busy tomorrow?"

"I can get not busy," the agent answered. Neal smiled. He wanted to go shopping and to the cemetery – to pay his respects to Hughes, maybe even visit Kate's grave.

Peter tucked Neal in and promised to pick him up at 10:00 in the morning so they could do some last-minute Christmas shopping. On his way out, the agent talked with June.

"I don't know what the Belgian Ambassador told Neal but he seemed to have knocked some sense into him. I hope he will be able to accept our help. Finally. Maybe in a day or two you can remind him about the therapist you mentioned."

"Thank you Peter. And what about Christmas?"

"Well, let's call it a Christmas miracle – he wants to go shopping tomorrow." June just smiled.

The next day was tiring for Peter and Neal – but both of them were satisfied. Neal bought presents for everyone he held dear – even for Peter when the agent wasn't watching. They ate lunch together and went to visit Hughes' and Kate's graves. Neal was still quiet but acting far more like himself than he had in the previous weeks.

When they came back to June's late in the afternoon, Neal collapsed on the couch and fell asleep holding a huge teddy bear he had bought for Theo. Peter couldn't resist smiling at the charming scene Neal and the bear presented, and snapped a photo, sending it to Dr Li with a text. _I think we might have turned a corner. For the better._ She replied: _Let's hope so._ And please make him more comfortable_ –__he doesn't need neck problems._

"Neal, let's get you more comfortable. Doctor's orders." Neal mumbled some nonsense and he held the bear so tightly that the agent could only hope that Theo wouldn't mind (and that Neal wouldn't drool all over it). Peter decided to step by the store on his way home and buy another one – just in case. He removed Neal's shoes and covered him with blankets. And smiled – he hoped that they had actually turned a corner. Neal talking, smiling, joking, bringing so much joy (and trouble) was the best Christmas present Neal could give them.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This story was orginally published at archive of our own (happy_phantom). My beta Ayam made this story much better. Thank you!

I posted it here because I need a small favour from you, my dear Readers and Writers.

Could you please take some time and fill in a short survey?

You will find the link at my profile page because I couldn't post it here...

Thank you very much in advance!

Feel free to post the link to your works as well! On the behalf of research team (and one crazy reader and writer) - THANK YOU!


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